


oh you got me shaking

by chickenfree



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M, Nipple Piercing, Nipple Play, Smut, model + photographer au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25334722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickenfree/pseuds/chickenfree
Summary: Usually if the models talk to him, it’s just – them asking questions, Phil joking about how he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, even as he directs them.They don’t try toarguewith him, usually.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 97





	oh you got me shaking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [midnight_radio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnight_radio/gifts).



> a little birthday gift for andrea - based off their moodboard prompt here: [[x]](https://midnightradio.tumblr.com/post/623214967361093632/keep-me-up-keep-my-mind-turned-round)

“I’m not dumb,” the kid says. 

Phil blinks at him. He hadn’t said anything about him being dumb. He’d just asked Zara to check if the lights were right, like he always does, because that’s – their whole job, or whatever. When it comes down to it, they’re just here to make sure that light does what it’s supposed to.

“Okay,” he says, quietly. 

He stoops to look through the viewfinder, even though the screen is right there. If anyone asks he mumbles some nonsense about clarity and accuracy. He just likes it, really. He likes hiding behind the whole hulking piece of plastic, peering at people and not letting them look back at him.

The boy frowns. He tips his head and blinks in that soft, practiced way, like they all do. 

Phil almost snaps at him to stop scowling like he fucking hates being here, but – Ben likes that, if he remembers right. He thinks it’s more interesting when a kid looks like they fucking hate everyone, including the viewer. 

Phil doesn’t really get it, but that doesn’t much matter. He snaps a few, only pausing to let the kid shift between poses. 

He’s usually a talker. He’s known for that, sort of. The real point is just that he does his job, but he thinks – he’s heard Ben say that he can have the difficult ones. That Phil’s random talking snaps the shy young girls out of their shell, that the blokes can’t find him intimidating because he just isn’t. 

“I know about lights,” the kid says. Phil startles.

Usually if they talk it’s just – them asking questions, Phil joking about how he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, even as he directs them. 

They don’t _argue_ with him, usually.

“Hope so,” he says, mild.

The kid frowns at him. Again. He’s pointed in a totally different direction, but his eyes swivel for a moment towards Phil’s lens, fixing it with that glare before he flicks them back into place.

“Not like – they didn’t teach me that.”

“You’re into photography, then?”

It’s not uncommon.

“No,” the kid says, anyways. “Just read about it so I’d know what’s going on.”

Phil thinks he hears Zara snort. She’s not a fan of the boys, generally, especially after that – whole business last month. 

The kid stiffens at the sound. Phil’s vaguely pleased that he’s shooting for Ben, since this boy would be entirely useless to anyone else.

Not that he’s not pretty. He is. He’s just made up his mind to look _unbelievably_ sulky.

“Her boyfriend’s – Zach, you know him? Her ex boyfriend,” Phil says, even though he can feel Zara giving his back a twin frown as soon as he says it. “Anyways. She thinks boys are dumb, now. It’s not just you.”

“He’s an idiot,” the kid agrees. 

“Stupid,” Zara calls from somewhere behind Phil. 

“I watched him put pickles on a pizza, once.”

“Did you?”

Phil thinks the kid’s mouth has quirked a bit, finally.

“That sounds good,” Phil says idly.

“Yeah. He’s disgusting,” the kid says, tilting his head so he’s conveniently facing Zara now, completely ignoring whatever Phil said.

“Super disgusting,” she agrees.

“What’re you studying?” Phil asks. It’s a bit out of the blue, but it’s a different tactic. The kid seems like the type, anyways. Like he was probably pulled out of a student center, all gawky long limbs and sulky face, mumbling that he’s too smart for this job.

“Law,” he says.

_Law?_

“Law? And you’ve got time?” Phil blurts, feeling a bit bewildered. He tries to focus on shooting, but he thinks the kid’s forgotten as well.

“I’m taking a break.”

It’s that haughty tone Phil hears, sometimes. 

Some of the kids he sees think he’s practically the pinnacle, shooting in a real studio and all. Some of them have seen the top and realize that Phil is just some guy, who wanders in when Ben lets him and spends the rest of his time taking pictures of friends of friends, all of them scraping for the price of bread. 

Some of them are like this kid. He sees them once in a while. Usually it’s the boys. They just hate being here, just think the whole thing is less than whatever they were doing before.

It’s not like Phil minds, exactly. He likes what he does, but mostly he’s just good at it. He doesn’t take the industry that seriously.

It’s the scowl on the kid’s face that throws him. He looks this close to furious, like any direction Phil could go would be a cause for a fight. He doesn’t know what to do with that, really. No one’s taken his presence as a challenge quite like this before.

Phil stares at his camera while Zara shuffles the guy off to get changed, sending one of the girls out. 

She’s pleasant enough. They realize they’ve worked together before. She’s older, closer to Phil’s age, and cracks an easy smile when he starts talking some nonsense about a bird he saw at the pond on his walk over.

He zips through dealing with her, doesn’t even remember much. 

The kid steps back into frame. He’s still frowning. Phil’s never been particularly good at reading faces, but he can peer into the viewfinder and deconstruct it. It’s not hard to see that the kid is even stiffer than before, barely concealing some reckless frustration.

“Dan, right?” Phil says.

He nods, a bit, before tilting his chin a bit more. 

“You’re traveling this year?” 

“Yeah.”

“Where next?”

“Paris.”

“Paris is pretty.”

The kid fixes his lens with that scowl. Phil sighs. Sighing doesn’t help, he realizes, in the middle of doing it.

The shot is interesting, anyways. 

He’s got one of the outlandish Swiss-cheese-tank-top-things on. Ben always glares when Phil calls them that, but that’s what it is, all holes and not much fabric. Phil’s always thought they were a bit too – _forward_ for his taste. 

Dan makes it good, though. It leaves half of his smooth chest uncovered, a little glint of a nipple bar exposed. He’s not jacked, like some of the guys, and that’s what makes it an interesting dichotomy, Phil decides. The black is stark against his pale skin. The weirdly slutty energy of Ben’s work is offset by the way Dan’s scowling like he’ll fight anything that breathes in his direction, skinny little arms or not.

“I don’t like Paris,” he – Dan, whatever – says, all haughty. Phil barely holds back an eyeroll. Leave it to this idiot to dislike Paris. 

“No?”

“You have to speak French. I don’t like speaking French.”

He seems careful not to say that he _can’t_ speak French. 

Phil still doesn’t understand what his fucking problem is, but that makes him grin, anyways. “I just point at things and say baguette.”

“Ugh,” Dan says, emphatic. 

“He really does,” Zara adds, in that half-distracted voice that means Phil’s going to have to get bossy to get her attention away from her phone later. 

“Don’t people stare?”

Phil shrugs, popping out from the viewfinder to flash his best, stupidest smile.

\--

_you here?_

Phil stares down at the text. It’s not like it’s weird to get random texts, now. Not really. He just hadn’t expected anything from Dan, of all people.

_here where?_

_paris_

_oh, no! sorry! stuck in finland with eero. how’s speaking french?_

_it’s fine  
sorry, just realized i was supposed to get headshots  
again  
Z gave me your card and said you did them_

_lol yeah  
will’s there if you want to ask him? _

_okay  
thanks _

_\--_

_hey are you up?_

Phil groans. He doesn’t particularly want to admit that he _is_ up at 2am, even to himself.

 _yeah,_ he replies, just to see what will happen.  
_why?_

Dan types for a long while. Phil watches the bubbles with detached interest. 

_just bored  
and i realized i still need headshots lol_

_lol  
you didn’t get will?_

_no :/_

_oh dear  
are you back in town?_

_yeah_

Phil opens his calendar app. Bread, it says, at 10:30. Then Thing, at 12:30. Then That Guy, at 5.

 _i have time 3-5,_ he writes back.  
_you want to come over?_

_okay  
address?_

Phil sends it to him. Dan replies with a smiley face that seems a bit incongruous.

\--

 _i’m outside a building,_ Dan texts the next day, after Phil’s phone has helpfully chirped out a Dan? alert about five times.

_the building i gave you the address for? or just a building_

_hopefully yours i guess_

Phil rolls his eyes at nothing as he goes to trudge down their stairs.

“Hi,” he says. 

Dan has a bit of a sheepish look on his face, so Phil decides to let him off for dawdling for a bloody hour. 

“Hi,” Dan says. “I’ll follow you?” 

They trudge back up the one million stairs, only pausing so Phil can unlock the door again and usher him inside.

“This is just your flat?” Dan asks. 

“Yeah. The other place is my mate’s, and he makes me rent it.”

“Oh.”

Phil makes a vague motion towards his janky home studio. It’s nothing particularly nice, but it’s enough that he can charge for it when he’s between real jobs. His camera is already propped up on a tripod, plain white background draped up against the wall. 

“You play piano?”

“Uh? Oh, no. It’s my brother’s and his girlfriend’s.”

“Oh,” Dan says, vague again. He walks across the backdrop in his socked feet.

He looks – entirely awkward, without the artifice of posing and playing a character for a piece. Phil settles for turning the camera on, fiddling with the settings even though he always lands on the same ones he had before.

“I never know what to do for these,” Dan tells him, with a little laugh. 

“Right, left, take your shirt off,” Phil monotones, tapping idly at the f-stop for the third time.

Dan wrinkles his nose just as Phil stoops towards the viewfinder. “Like a piece of meat.”

“Yep,” Phil says.

“Like – a sheep auction.”

“A sheep auction?”

“That’s what it is,” Dan says. He gets that argumentative voice, again. Phil almost tips back into exasperation.

“I’ll judge _your_ conformation,” he blurts, instead.

Dan’s eyes widen right as Phil clicks. He pauses, flicking open the reviews even though he’s not meant to do it in the middle of shooting. 

“What?” Dan demands, when Phil fails to hold back a giggle. His eyes are narrowed when Phil looks up for a moment, scowling again. Phil pulls a frown back for a moment. He hopes Dan knows he’s well and truly joking, but – he likes fucking around when he does these, if he’s honest. It’s a break from having a whole team breathing down his neck. They can take a minute to laugh, if Dan will take a joke.

“You just – you look stupid,” Phil says.

“Do not.”

“Do too, bug eyes.”

“You didn’t tell me you were ready,” Dan huffs. “I thought we were still dawdling.”

He’s come up behind Phil, now, leaning in so he can see the little screen. Phil doesn’t know if he’d meant to step in that close, but he’s warm and – distractingly tall. He swallows. 

“Do bugs have big eyes? Why’s it called bug eyes?”

“How would I know?”

“You said you’re smart,” Phil argues. 

“About law. I literally never said I know anything about bugs.”

“Well, you should learn.”

 _“You_ should learn. I’m not getting that close to those little freaks.”

Phil leans back, bumping Dan with his shoulder. “Get over there. You’re the one doing most of the dawdling.”

“Am not,” Dan says. It seems a bit pointless, since he’s already shuffling back to his spot on the backdrop, turning back to look at the lens with a stilted smile.

“Act normal, please.”

“This is normal.”

“You look like a nerd.”

Dan’s face flickers into a frown, for a moment, before he pulls it back into something that’s – a costume of a man acting normal for headshots, Phil thinks. Phil clicks as soon as he looks more or less like a model, less like a person whose limbs are too big for his brain to keep track of.

“Sure,” he says, softly. “Left?”

Dan turns, obedient. Phil clicks again.

“Right?”

“Yeah,” Dan mumbles, pointlessly agreeing as he turns again. Phil’s lights are always set up more or less the same, especially when he’s only doing headshots over and over. Dan’s face is nice, though. Phil’s practiced at staring at faces with that detached feeling.

“Take your shirt off?” he says, when he’s clicked a few times. 

Dan makes a soft little whining sound. He tugs at the hem for a moment, but doesn’t quite make a move to do anything about it.

“You look fine,” Phil says.

He never really knows what to do with this. It’s not like he has any reason to be shirtless, professionally, while someone’s camera lens stares at him. It’s not a particularly relatable situation. Headshots always seem to set it off in them, like it’s suddenly an issue when there’s no character to hide behind.

Dan purses his lips a bit, cheeks smudged red. He finally tugs it off, quickly, discarding his nondescript black t-shirt onto the floor.

“Stand up a little taller?” Phil asks, softly.

“Too tall.”

“Daniel.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. He’s even taller than Phil thought, has to tilt his face down just to angle it towards the lens. Phil clicks a few times. He pauses when Dan shifts, awkwardly trying to pose in a way that doesn’t make it too obvious that he is posing.

“Good?” Phil asks, after a few more clicks. Dan shrugs. He’s already reaching to grab his shirt, yanking it back over his head. He shuffles over again like he knows the drill, leaning into Phil’s space to watch when he pulls up the reviews and flicks back through them. 

He doesn’t say much. He just hovers over Phil’s shoulder like that, stooped unnaturally small and quiet.

“There’s some good ones,” Phil tells him, when he doesn’t say anything. He turns a bit, looking over his shoulder.

Dan’s got a frown fixed in place. “Whatever. Are you okay with picking the good ones?”

“Sure. I’ll send them in a few days?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He’s still standing there, hovering in Phil’s office. His socked foot scuffs over the floor.

“Hey,” he says, after a minute. “I saw you looking at my nips.”

Phil blinks at him. “Did I?”

“Didn’t you?”

“Did it hurt?”

Dan pulls a face that he can’t quite place the meaning of. “They feel nice,” he says, after a pause. Phil doesn’t think that really answered the question, but – he finds himself scanning down to Dan’s chest, trying to figure out if he can spot the little bumps under his t-shirt.

He must be – a bit obvious.

“I can take it off again,” Dan says, quietly.

“Oh.”

He watches as Dan’s big hands catch in the hem, again. He pulls the shirt back off, lets it dangle in his hands instead of dropping it. 

“Um,” Phil mumbles, nonsensical. It’s like – his whole head stutters. It wouldn’t be the first time, exactly, but there’s been – one too many times that he’s fallen for a joke. He’s not very good at figuring out when there’s actually something on offer.

He sucks his lower lip between his teeth, gaping at Dan like he’s never seen anyone half naked before. He can’t quite bring himself to look at Dan’s face, and instead settles for scanning his torso again, staring at the way his jeans sit low on his hips, how the little silver barbell ends sit against his chest.

“Yeah?” Dan says. Phil finally makes his eyes meet Dan’s, for a moment. He nods, too bewildered to make it look casual at all.

Dan smiles. It’s mostly dimples, and a little crinkle at the edge of his eyes. “You’re cute,” he says.

“You’re cute,” Phil mumbles back. It comes out all – plaintive, like Dan’s offending him. He kind of is.

“Professionally.”

“What.”

Dan tilts his head. Phil is deeply aware of the long arc of it, like a giraffe. Like a hot giraffe. Like – he’s done with words, really.

“Professionally cute,” Dan says, breaking into Phil’s buzzing thoughts.

“Personally cute,” Phil says, automatic. “This isn’t – I’m not looking at you as a model.”

“No, like – what? You _have_ photographed me, you idiot? I mean that I have to be cute, as a job. It’s not interesting.”

“I think it’s interesting.”

Dan wrinkles his nose, scrunching up his whole face in a way that’s unbearably charming. His cheeks flush a funny uneven pink. Phil’s lucky enough to discover that it trails all the way down his chest.

“I know it looks like a rash,” Dan says, quieter. “Everyone on earth has already told me.”

“It’s cute.” 

It’s so simple, he thinks. It’s borderline stupid, to tell a model that he’s cute, like he doesn’t already know somehow. Phil assumes they’ve all figured it out, sooner or later.

It’s just – Dan’s smile has gone sheepish and private, directed anywhere but Phil’s face. His fingers twist in the shirt, fiddling idly. 

Phil takes a breath. He finally drops his hand from the camera, and steps closer to where Dan is.

“Hey,” he says, softly. “You wanna see my etchings?”

“Your _what?”_

“My – it’s a joke! It’s what people say.” 

“Which people?” Dan demands. 

Phil plants a kiss on him and hopes that’s enough of an answer, even though he doesn’t like his chances.

Dan hums, anyways. Phil tries not to sigh in relief. He’s pretty sure that _just so he’ll shut up_ isn’t a good reason for doing this. It probably shouldn’t stay high on the list. He tilts in, anyways, leaning in close and trying to find out how much more Dan will let him explore.

“You’re pretty,” he manages to say, when Dan’s pulled away for air for a split second. 

Dan makes another little happy noise as he goes back for more. He’s so talkative, even though Phil’s literally got his whole mouth pretty occupied. 

“Whatever,” Dan says, garbled by the fact that his tongue is not exactly firmly in his own face.

“You’re not supposed to talk when you’re eating,” Phil informs him, pulling away for another breath. “Disgusting.”

“What am I _eating,_ Phil?”

Phil flushes, going warm and red and buzzy. “Shuddup.”

Dan dimples again. His eyebrows pull together like he’s frowning, but only half of his face has been informed of the situation. “Make me, then.”

Phil pinches him. It’s just – impulsive, he thinks, when Dan’s loose fists thunk into his chest, and he’s met with a funny squawking noise that doesn’t sound like anything he’s heard human make before. He takes a clumsy step back, but then Dan’s hands are catching in the shirt that he’s still wearing, tugging at it impatiently. 

“Um,” Phil says. “You want this off?” Dan’s already yanking it up by the hem, anyways, all busy. Phil obediently raises his arms a bit so he can have it. “I forgot to do abs yesterday,” he blurts. 

“You really do abs?”

Phil cringes a bit at how quickly he saw through that idea. 

He makes a show of rolling his eyes, instead, like it doesn’t matter at all. Dan’s still giving him that – half a frown look, the one that Phil can’t quite seem to parse.

His hand catches in Phil’s, after a moment. It’s all fingers spaghetti. Dan’s fingertips can’t quite match up, just sort of end up idly poking at Phil’s until he hooks a knuckle around one of Dan’s, mostly curious to see what’ll happen.

It’s – the piercings, he realizes. Not at the right time. He only realizes after Dan’s already more or less flopped Phil’s hand onto his chest, abandoning him there. He fumbles for an explanation, gaping at Dan’s chest until he remembers that there’s something under his cupped palm. 

He blinks.

Dan’s looking a touch bewildered, he decides, when he remembers to look up. 

“Did you forget what we were doing?” he asks. It’s not – mocking, exactly. His voice is so soft and small that Phil forgets to wonder if maybe he thinks Phil’s a bit dim right now.

“Am I supposed to touch them?”

“Uh. Yeah?”

“How?”

“Y’want me to show you?”

Phil’s mouth goes dry. He swallows, manages a little nod. 

Dan’s hand skims up his own middle, bumping disjointedly across the flushed red skin. He gets the little nub between his fingers, careful not to bump the ends too much. He pinches it a bit, tugging and playing at it. A little sigh escapes from him. 

Phil – is not going to palm himself because of this. He won’t. He’s not. Does he have to twist his fingers in the pocket of his jeans to stop himself? Maybe he does.

“If you – with the bar –” Dan is saying, quiet and already a bit rough sounding. “Um. There’s like, nerves in there that you can touch, so. It’s – yeah.” 

He trails off, demonstrating how to pinch the little end of the bar and play with it. 

Phil’s eyes finally dart up to meet Dan’s, but they’re so hooded, almost closed, other than a little flicker of his eyelashes when something works for him. 

It’s so – vulnerable, Phil thinks. He imagines Dan’s more used to being a bit of an exhibitionist, but – it’s not like he even really knows what Phil’s doing, other than maybe what he can hear. Phil palms himself, quickly squeezing his dick through his jeans just long enough.

Dan’s eyes pop open, brighter and quicker than Phil expected. His dimples are out, but his eyes are – softer, Phil thinks. Just studying him, carefully searching every inch of him without any real judgement. 

“Sorry,” he blurts.

“I don’t mind,” Dan says, with a vague shrug. “You wanna try?”

Phil reaches for one, careful. He brushes his fingers against the back of Dan’s, and Dan’s hand drops out of the way, moving to idly dance lower over the bumps of his ribs, like he can’t quite stop moving. 

The little metal ball is slick under his fingers. It’s sort of weird, he thinks. It’s warmer than metal should be, like it’s human, but it’s perfectly shaped and shined in a way that feels a bit incongruent against Dan’s flushed skin. Phil feels – overwhelmingly powerful, with it caught between his fingertips. A little bit scared, too, by the idea that he has something so fragile and private in his big clumsy fingers.

He tugs a bit at it, careful not to do too much at once. Dan twitches. His face has rearranged a bit when Phil looks up, a little quirk to his lips like something’s funny. 

“Here,” he says, soft and deeper than before. 

Phil moves to pull away, but Dan reaches for his other nipple instead. His other stupidly big hand pats at Phil’s until he moves back to where he was. Phil’s reminded, for a moment, that Dan’s not going to let him do anything that doesn’t work for him.

Dan tugs roughly at the one caught between his fingers, pinching so it’s all squashed against the barbell. His sigh has a bit more voice to it, a little _huh_ sound like it’s not quite under his control anymore. 

“Oh,” Phil says, swallowing hard. 

He tries to copy with the other one. He’s rewarded with another noise, much the same as the last one. Dan arches his shoulders back a bit, and Phil’s not sure if he’s just – posing, the way he knows how to, but – his eyes have slipped closed again, when Phil thinks to look. His face is soft, gone slack where it’s usually pinched. Phil’s eyes scan downwards, too, and there’s an unmistakable outline against the fabric of his jeans. 

“Can I – uh. Mouth?” Phil stammers. 

Dan nods. Phil has to stoop to a rather strange angle, but he presses a few kisses to Dan’s chest, before he bites down, teeth on either side of where he’s meant to be. Dan grunts. Phil flicks his tongue over the nub. It feels – normal, mostly, except for the funny resistance around the middle. He licks at the ball, too, just to see. Dan keens.

“Missed this,” he croaks.

“Uh?” Phil mumbles, totally garbled. He’s busy. Dan’ll understand. He sucks the end between his lips for a moment, tugging at it more. Dan whines, again, squirming and sighing and generally having a fit.

“Had to heal forever,” he finally manages to say. “Got – impatient. Fuck, you’re wet.”

“Hm,” Phil hums. He bites and flicks his tongue at the end at once. Dan shoves at his shoulders with a little grunt.

“Fuck you,” he says. “Fuck me. God. What.”

Phil pulls away, disoriented by the loss. “What?” 

“D’you have a bed?”

“Yeah.”

Dan rolls his eyes. Phil decides that it’s pretty unfair to roll your eyes at someone who’s just been very busy making your nips feel very nice. “Can we go there, then? So, like –?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

Phil nods, quickly. He more or less bolts for the door, hurries down the little corridor and into his room before he can properly check that Dan’s following him.

It’s not much, really. Having laundry and a bowl of cereal on the floor is – not extremely sexy. 

Dan doesn’t seem to mind, anyways. He’s already shucking his jeans and his pants, wiggling out of both at once and roaming around the two square feet of free space until he finds a place to put them that he seems to think is reasonable. Phil wonders vaguely if the whole thing would feel presumptuous, in another situation. He doesn’t stick with that for long.

“Where’s your lube?”

“Uh. Drawer?”

“Thanks,” Dan says. He pulls it out, grabs a condom too while he’s at it. 

Phil blinks down at his own jeans. He’s not – entirely sure what Dan wants to have happen.

“Take them off,” Dan demands. “Unfair if I have to be naked.”

“Okay.” 

Dan nods, sort of stiffly, like he thought it would be more of a fight. The cap of the lube bottle pops open as Phil’s wiggling out of his jeans. It flicks closed, after, and then open again, and then closed.

“What’re you doing?”

He glances up, and Dan’s flushed again, but for what seems like a different reason. He drops the bottle onto Phil’s sheets. “Fiddling,” he says, mumbled and quiet. 

Phil knee-walks onto the bed, stopping next to him. “Okay. You want me to do it, or you?”

Dan wavers for a moment, but then he snatches the bottle again, flicking the cap open and drizzling over his own fingers. Phil’s left to sit and watch as he reaches back, doing things Phil can only try to imagine.

Dan’s pretty, as inane as it is to think that. There’s a bit of sweat shining on his face, down over his chest. He closes his eyes while he works, letting Phil watch with abandon while he pulls his eyebrows together, lets those little noises escape, arches away from his own hand.

Phil palms himself, again, but he can’t bring himself to commit to it. He just wants this to last.

“Okay,” Dan says, after what feels like an eternity.

“Okay,” Phil agrees, nonsensical. Dan’s straddling his lap before Phil can really sort out what’s happening. He reaches down, closes his fist around Phil and gives him a few too-dry tugs in warning. Phil doesn’t exactly – need it, really, but he appreciates the touch. He’s already a bit frazzled by the time Dan’s even made a move to lower himself.

He’s fucking – tight, and warm, and it’s been too fucking long since Phil has done this. His hips twitch of their own accord. He worries for a moment that it’s too much, but Dan just makes another soft little sound. 

“Lube,” Dan stammers, as he starts to move. He’s bobbing up and down with no apparent intent, leaning back to pat around the bed at the same time. Phil is bewildered as much as anything.

“What?”

“Where’s it?”

Phil leans forward so he can reach behind Dan’s back, joining the hunt. Dan stills at the change of angle, frozen for a moment.

“It’s here,” Phil tells him. He drops it in Dan’s waiting hand, only fumbling a bit. 

Dan’s moving again, warm and tight around Phil. Phil lets himself look away for a moment. He likes just – feeling, sometimes, likes to take a break from trying to understand what he’s seeing. 

He almost misses it. 

Dan pokes a finger into his side, and Phil startles. It takes him a second to understand what Dan’s point was. 

He’s smudged a dab of wetness over each nip. He’s stilled, again, staring at Phil expectantly. Phil reaches for one before he can think, thumbing over the nub before pinching it gently between his fingers, tugging. He rolls the barbell end between his fingertips, wondering at how slick it is, how easy it slips between his fingertips as he plays with it.

Dan drops down around him. He groans, low and punched out. “More.”

Phil tugs at it, pinching a bit harder. He rocks his hips up against Dan’s ass, pulling away a bit and then rolling back in as he squeezes down. Dan tightens around him, squirming and pulling away and dropping back to meet him. He whines when he tries to pull away, and realizes that Phil’s still got one nip twisted between his fingertips. 

“Oh,” Phil says, softly. 

He lets it slip through. They’re all puffy, now, dark red to match Dan’s neglected dick. He’s red all over, really. His face has gone taught in a way that Phil isn’t sure if it’s about pain or pleasure. Maybe – both. He’s not sure.

“Come back. Hold the – metal. Fuck.”

He drops back against Phil’s hips. Phil’s feeling – more than a bit overwhelmed, warm and buzzy and sort of starry-eyed. 

He traps the end of the barbell between his fingers again, obedient. He stares at the way that the skin over Dan’s chest moves, elastic and straining against his grasp. 

“Fuck,” Dan says, again. “Fuck. Shit.”

“Good?” Phil manages to ask. Dan gives him a vague little nod. He’s moving a bit erratically. Phil slips a hand under his ass, squeezing at the muscle and tugging a bit when Dan seems to lose track of the rhythm. He goes with it, easy enough. 

The mumbling stops, and Phil’s left listening to Dan’s soft little pants, mostly. 

He smudges a thumb into the sticky lube over Dan’s chest, again, rubbing it into the skin in little circles. Dan arches into his hand. He rocks restlessly, pressing into Phil’s fingertips and then rocking away when it’s too much all at once. 

“Dick,” Dan says. Phil pauses.

“I’m being a dick?”

He doesn’t love how soft and small it comes out, but – he does like how Dan’s face lights up, suddenly, dimpled and pleased. “My dick, idiot,” he says.

“Oh. Oh, yeah.”

“That guy,” Dan mumbles. It takes Phil a second to sort out where his hands are, but he settles for moving the one on Dan’s ass. He spits into it, and then closes that one around Dan’s aching dick, moving his hand steadily over him. His other hand – his designated nips hand, as he’s come to think of it – ends up tangled in Dan’s hair, pulling him into a messy kiss. 

“Fuck,” Dan grits out, finally bouncing with purpose again. 

“‘S what we’re doing,” Phil confirms. Dan’s trembling as he moves, little shakes that seem to get stronger and stronger with every stroke. Phil’s not terribly sure what to expect from him, but he tugs experimentally at Dan’s hair and gets a little moan for his trouble, lets Dan fuck himself down onto his dick and back up into Phil’s hand.

“Uh,” Dan says, like he’s starting a thought. There’s nothing after that. It’s just the shakes as he comes over Phil’s hand. 

Phil stills, uncertain. He would very much like to keep going, but Dan’s blinking softly at him with that sleepy dazed look, and – he just doesn’t know. 

“Um,” Phil says, mostly unintelligible. He’s shaking too, stomach muscles twitching with confusion. 

“Just go,” Dan says. 

“Go where?”

“Fucks’ sakes,” he grumbles. 

He’s smiling now, though. Both of Dan’s big hands end up sitting loose over Phil’s shoulders. His forehead creases as he pulls himself off a bit, bearing down onto his hands, and then he’s dropping again, borderline out of control. 

Phil shifts forward, catching him in a kiss now that he’s done being bossy, apparently. 

It doesn’t take him long, between fucking up into Dan and Dan’s continued little noises, little whines that keep escaping against Phil’s mouth like it’s somehow doing it for him, just to keep going past the brink like this. Phil doesn’t get it, but it’s – messy. Wanton, like Dan’s just chasing whatever feels nice in the moment. Like he likes being putty in Phil’s hands, for a moment.

That thought is enough, really. His hips stutter over it, and he closes his eyes tightly, hiding his face in Dan’s warm sticky chest as he comes.

Dan pets at his hair, bobbing his way through the motion, until –

“Don’t _lick_ that,” Dan yelps, shoving at Phil’s head until he gives up on trying to see if his tongue can reach the closest nip. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Oops.”

“Jesus,” Dan says. He pinches at Phil’s ribs and then pulls away before Phil can think of how to react, that won’t get him into even more trouble. “I don’t think you even feel sorry.”

“Little sorry,” Phil says. He flops back, watches like some sort of fucked up king while Dan rolls the condom off and disappears to put it – somewhere. Phil’s not going to wonder too much about the specifics right now.

He always feels just a bit adrift, after. 

He can’t really expect Dan to stay much longer than it takes to shower, but it’s still – hard for Phil to transition, sometimes. Hard to go back into the real world, afterwards, where nothing particularly exciting is happening.

Dan lands heavily on the bed next to him, after a minute. He’s so fucking big, so _much_ in a way that Phil doesn’t usually get to experience in comparison to his own body.

“S’good?” Phil asks. 

Dan nods. 

He looks – sticky, all patchy red like he has a very charming rash. Phil barely stops himself from telling him so.

They lay there in silence while Phil tries to think of something normal to say, and Dan does – whatever it is that his hand is doing, where it’s fussing with Phil’s sheets.

“Where to next?” Dan asks. 

“Shower.”

Dan huffs. “No, like. God, Phil.”

“What?”

“What country?” he asks, exasperated.

“Oh. London. Just staying home for a bit, I think. Where’re you going?”

Dan’s rolled his face towards him, when he looks. Phil’s not particularly good at figuring out when people’s expressions mean something they’re not saying, but this one looks – pointed, somehow. “Yeah,” he says, softly. “I’ll be home for a while.”


End file.
